Tainted
by PurpleYin
Summary: Post Critical Mass character pieces. Chapter 3: Kate Heightmeyer reflects on things...
1. Red's not so nice

Spoilers: Season 2 Critical Mass, with hints of later character direction too.

A/N: Kindly betaread by victoriaely

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**Tainted**

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He really dislikes the colour red, he sees far to much of it in his profession. They call red the colour of love, of your heart and although that's true, it's red for blood and guts and suffering. Love is rarely happy in his opinion, and that rare happiness barely ever lasts for long.

He thought he maybe he could be happy here; find a nice girl and all, one his mum would be proud of, but nothing goes according to plan. Laura's a nice girl alright but somehow he feels it won't work, doesn't want it to really, because it's too easy to get hurt. His parents were happy together, but even they couldn't last, because people don't. That's yet another reason he wishes he could give up on it, even finding love and happiness gives you no guarantee you can hold on to it. Especially not in this galaxy.

He likes red on her though, the colour of command, of the civilians on the base, those he thinks of as truly innocent to the evils of the universe. They're not like the military, who've seen war before and they're not like the scientists who obviously knew the risks of coming here and chanced it anyway. It's the people in red who suffer most, because they are always optimistic, naïve to a point that causes just enough pain when the metaphorical slap comes to scold them for it, but leaves them conscious enough to realise their mistake and what it has cost them. They are never the same again.

She's different. She gets back up and believes it once more, because she's an idealist and perhaps it's all she has to herself, the only thing to hold onto. But she's getting more cynical, ready to drop the front when necessary – or maybe she still really believes and simply pushes her ideals to the background. Either way, she doesn't question why bad things happen anymore, she deals with it, the best she can. She's growing stronger, her colour darker too, like the seeping stain of blood upon her soul. She's responsible for so much and she can't let her people suffer, not even it seems for the sake of principles, it seems.

He's heard about her sanctioning of using whatever means necessary on Kavanagh, and he can't say he approves as a doctor or a man, but he understands her reasons, because he understands what's happening to her. Sometimes he feels the same, wants to end the suffering no matter the cost, and he knows, just as she does, the guilt of causing as much suffering in trying, and of being responsible for everyone – he's failed to protect his people, he's done more harm than good on several occasions. Once it cost him a good friend, perhaps more, and he's lucky it didn't with John, too. He's also been involved in things he doesn't care to think about often, what happened on Hoff more generally – the acceptance and joy by the Hoffan over something that caused equal amounts of death as it did liberation - and how his enthusiasm a second time inadvertantly lead to Ellia's death.

The cost for him now is different though, and sometimes means helping where no help is wanted. The only difference is he stepped to the side, let nature run its course, no matter that it lead to the loss of one of his friends last link to her family.

He knows nothing happened to Kavanagh, he looked him over himself to check; just to be sure, to know the truth. But he still knows Elizabeth ordered it, was willing to do it. She couldn't herself, she never would, but it's almost the same to get others to do it. It means you have to be sure, committed to do what you believe is necessary.

He's scared of what it means, that she could ask that of Ronon, or Sheppard. He knows he's not that far behind, he thinks the same way, he just hasn't acted on it – he was willing in mind, but not body. What's the difference between them apart from that? To want but deny burns a person up; he wants to do whatever necessary and he's not sure how long there will be that difference between them.

He already knows it's easy to slip into thinking something is the best on others behalf, and he's scared that, like Elizabeth, he'll slip across that line and do something more than is strictly acceptable. He doesn't know when, but he can feel it coming and he doesn't know how to control the urge to do something - he can't stop helping people even though one day he might be doing more than aiding people, might go further than anyone wants, with the best of intentions still in mind. It's frightening, because once you start, you can't withdraw, you can't take back what is wrong and you can't justify. You have to accept and get on with it, and deal with the fallout.

What he can't quite get around is the fact that Elizabeth isn't dealing with it, she doesn't have to. Kavanagh is shocked, refusing to talk about it to Heightmeyer. You'd think he'd be all over it, but it seems he's uncharacteristically tightlipped on the matter – fearful even.

Before it was simply Kavanagh who doubted her motivations, now many question how far she will go, the general conufsion fueled further by Kavanagh's silence on the issue. It's mostly just whispers around in the corridors, idle talk to lift the heavy blanket of awkward silence after the recent revelations. People trying to reassure themselves that this is right, that they are fighting the good fight and whatever is done will be in the name of freedom, and ultimately peace too – that everything will be okay. Even then they haven't tricked themselves enough to alleviate the slight kilt in their smiles that belays their discomfort. No one is happy, it doesn't sit right with them – they can't justify it away.

And really what concerns him is how he can almost sympathise with her stance; wants to have that courage and commitment to making everything better in any way possible, because it might be all they have left, the only way to fight against the improbable odds they face and gain victory over the Wraith.

He doesn't like red because it's symbolic for everything he finds unbearable. For everyone else it's all about love and joy, but for him it's all about pain and loss.

Yet he likes it on her, and he likes the idea of that darkness to it, the maroon of her jacket and the dark red shirts colours reflecting back on her face in the low light of the late night when she often visits him, making her face tinged red too – because on her it makes her seem alive rather than dying.

He doesn't know why he likes it really, why it's so specific to her, just the same as he shouldn't admire her actions, but he does. It's not right to, but a lot of things haven't been right for a fair amount of time. He doesn't think things will be for some time to come. It's just a feeling really, but he can't shrug off the sense something untoward approaching, of fate closing in on them and driving them both towards what might have been unimaginable once, but no longer is.


	2. Not all reminiscing is done fondly

Spoilers: Season 2 Critical Mass, with hints of later character direction too.

A/N: Kindly betaread by ToasterOnFire.

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Chapter 2: Not all reminiscing is fondly done

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He bands himself against her mentally. Tries to think of reasons why they shouldn't be doing this. Even though **he** isn't doing this. But he is letting it happen, and isn't that as bad?

They're endorsing torture, for the sake of her people of course, yet there is a split second where a thought skitters across his mind – one he'd rather not think. Her face is full of determination, she's so sure Kavanagh has what they need – so sure they can 'extract' it. It reminds him of Kolya. Wasn't he just the same? Committed to getting what his people needed.

Kolya was right about him knowing more, but it didn't make it right what he did – didn't make their mission to take over Atlantis justified, even though it wasn't strictly theirs, either. Now more than ever Rodney can see that neither do they have justification, they can pretend that to do the same is different, but it's not.

He avoids looking at them as he plays along in something that seems far too like a game for his comfort – like the game Kolya played with him. He avoids any part in it, plunging himself into finding a solution, so maybe they won't need to do anything after all.

Somehow, he's pleased to hear Kavanagh fainted before they got anything, even though they are in need, because he isn't really sure about the plan. The man's a jerk, but a spy! Really it was silly to think he's serve anyone else, he doesn't have the loyalty to take such risks – yet Elizabeth and co. believe he is. It's rare, but for once Rodney doesn't agree with her, but he doesn't disagree either, because he doesn't know anything else that will help right now. He simply works.

That it was Caldwell surprises him when he finds out, afterwards of course, because at the time he could barely take time to think about who the codes were from. All that mattered was they had them – the city would be saved - he didn't want to think about how they had them.

It was good to know that Caldwell wasn't himself, as it were - that they had been right to do what they did to him. Caldwell seems to understand perfectly what situation they were put in.

But Rodney still thinks back to the determination of Elizabeth and the others. They were so sure; they were also completely wrong. It was only circumstance that prevented them from doing harm to an innocent man, because they all knew Ronon could have done terrible things if he'd had the chance to – intimidation can go far but no ones a fool enough to think that's where it would have stopped had it come to it. The thought makes him shudder.

The idea that Ronon would do such things is acceptable, the man isn't ever going to be exactly civilized after seven years on the run, and moral standards here in Pegasus seem to be based on survival, and they **had** needed those codes to survive. He imagines the decision was fairly simple for the guy, doing what was necessary.

Sheppard he can forgive too, because he's always been willing to do what it takes, not to mention Caldwell was spurring him on – misleading them all.

What disturbs him most is how Elizabeth let over to everyone else, or maybe that's just what he wants to think, to picture her going along with John and Ronon and the obviously biased Caldwell. He can certainly see what influence John has on her decisions, the same kind of influence he had once before he broke both their trusts. Except Elizabeth isn't weak like that – it was her call and she endorsed it fully.

That's the most chilling part, to think she made that choice herself, like he really ought to accept she had. The only thing that stops him is his willingness to think better of her, like she had so often done for him. He doesn't like where this trail leads for her, he wants to believe she was coerced, that it was some odd mix of group pressure that pushed the idea forward as the only option.

But he knows as he sits here, opposite her at the table, that it wasn't. He looks up to meet her eyes and can't stand to see how dispassionate she seems about the discussion they're having – what should be done about Kavanagh, and the report to the SGC. It almost appears she doesn't care that they nearly cut him, hit him, whatever it was Ronon had planned. Did she even think of the effect it would have on him – the unfortunate mirroring of what the Genii did in the name of survival. Somehow he doesn't think so, and he glances back to his notes, leaving time for her attention to be drawn to someone else before he chances to look at her again. He studies her and worries about what this all means. Half formed, terrifying, concerns battle against his wish to just ignore the change he sees in his friend.

Maybe it's just a blip, an anomalous error in her judgment. Something he can let go, forget about. He'd say so, but she's forgetting about what she was willing to do too soon. She knew it was dubious but at the same time she's so quick to get over the mistake, to ignore the possibility of having gone through with it. He can't let that slide, he can't let her slip further, but at the same time what can he do?

Elizabeth is more than that; in his mind she's always been above them all in terms of ideals – he's a man of science but she's a woman of words, of diplomacy, understanding and tolerance where others lack those qualities. Her point of view was always balancing, even if she wasn't right in the face of his arguments. He can't lose her to this, she weighs him down, brings him back to earth when he's too far above to see what's at risk.

And now he wants to return the favor.

He stands by, for now, watching and waiting because there isn't anything else to do yet. Hoping that he won't have to protect her from herself one day, a day that doesn't feel that far away no matter how much he hopes it doesn't even exist at all. He wants to be proven wrong for once; as much as his pride would be hurt by that, he knows deep down it would wound him much more to see her become anything like the man he despises. Kolya may haunt him by night, but he won't let him haunt the halls of Atlantis too, especially not in Elizabeth's form. She was the imperviable one, incorruptible by this wretched galaxy. He can't bear to think of her turning to him and him seeing the same sharp, calculated and awfully smug look of justification in doing the wrong thing, despite the good intentions. He knows why she would do such things, but he won't let it be the norm. Elizabeth Weir should never be jaded, darkened to a shadow of herself like he fears, and for once he isn't going to back down and give up just because the prospect, her very presence, scares him and reminds him of what could be.

He hasn't ever really been one for friends, but it occurs to him he has to care to even be considering any of this. And for once it doesn't bother him to know that. He doesn't feel weak for it like he might have believed when he was younger, because he knows to have people who care makes you stronger and he's going to be there for her as much as she will let him. His only other fear is, if she won't let him...


	3. The hard days

Spoilers: Up to Season 2 "Critical Mass"

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Dealing with Radek's rant about children walking all over him, almost a week earlier, had been light-hearted compared to what she'd been over the past few days. She'd had quite a number of appointments relating to the sabotage incident; all difficult to manage. 

On one hand, she'd had to reassure Elizabeth and John, pointing out the moral relativity of living in this galaxy, not justifying their actions, but not judging them either. Trying to gauge her patients' own reactions and feelings was proving hard though; it seemed everyone involved in this was tight-lipped on the matter, perhaps not wanting to implicate anyone. No one wanted to take the blame, but neither could anyone deflect it for fear of pointing fingers. The person who'd been most honest had been Ronon; he tended to be straightforward about how he felt - perhaps simply to minimize the time he spent with her. To him, morals didn't matter in the face of death. Survival was what he cared about most, his priority. But for the others, merely surviving wasn't enough; they needed to come out on the other end still being good people, as subjective a term as it was.

The other side to it was just as difficult. She watches the person they nearly tortured, watches his nervous fidgeting and his shifting eyes, as if he's waiting for an attack at any moment. She'd heard from Ronon that Kavanagh had been skittering away from him on any occasion the two had crossed paths by accident, not that that bothered Ronon much. It was understandable, considering the circumstances, and he seemed to take it as a consequence of the events, even though Kavanagh avoiding you would be considered a bonus to many a person in the city. Ronon didn't feel guilty, because he'd done nothing, and had he done anything, he'd accept it as necessary, even if ultimately wrong. He was the one person not trying to shirk responsibility.

But the problem facing her was Kavanagh's response to everything. She was kind of surprised he has remained on Atlantis, though she wouldn't have let him go back on the Daedalus without some kind of supervision, just in case he tried anything foolish. It was odd to see him broken by this. It may pass and be mostly forgotten about soon enough - he has a tendency to bounce back fairly well from his troubles for the most part - but something has changed. It was not the usual kind of woe; this was something that will never leave a person.

Thinking about his perspective, she can see how devastating it must be – to have his loyalty in question. Judging from everything he has said in their sessions, there's a recurring theme that he only wants what's best for the expedition. If anyone had asked her, she would have advised them that he wasn't as likely a suspect as they wanted to believe. But no one had bothered to tell her of the situation until after the fact, when they wanted her to know the details, to clean up the mess as it were.

The report stated nothing happened, but he must've known they would have done something. They'd wanted answers, having no mercy for him, according to Ronon's description – and Kavanagh wouldn't have had any answers to give, no way out.

Perhaps that's why he appears so twitchy today, like he needs to be able to spring up and run away at a moment's notice. But flight won't help, and unlike with all the previous issues in his life, she knows he has to deal with this properly while it's at the forefront of his mind. He feels he can't escape, and he's right. There is no running away from this kind of trauma; distance does nothing to change the past or quell the fear.

She has to focus him on the fact he's alive and well, generally speaking, but that he needs to get back to life, without this hanging over him, to be able to truly live. What they intended to do to him still counts, but it's not the be all and end all. Maybe she doesn't quite believe everything she has to say to him, about how what is done is done, what nearly happened didn't actually happen. Because, really, it says a lot to her about what this galaxy will push people to, or maybe just what they can convince themselves is right when it's a matter of dire circumstance.

But she isn't allowed to judge them. She has to help him live with it or, better yet, overcome it. If she has to misrepresent her own response to it all, then that's what she has to do for everyone's good. Her place here is to make him feel better so that he can cope with seeing his potential torturer walking the halls. She can't say what he would like to hear most - who's to blame. She can't reassure him like she usually would in such circumstances, because no one can be brought to justice here.

She's not allowed to look at him and tell him in all honesty that she's sorry his superiors judged him that way and found him guilty without real proof. She knows they wanted to believe it was him; that that was the simplest conclusion. It's easier to convince yourself that the person you dislike is actually a bad person than to suspect those you like or trust. But their assumption was not just unfair and unjust; it was nearly disastrous. While they pursued getting answers from him, the real culprit nearly got away - they had wasted time in a crisis because of petty prejudices. Not to mention, what exactly had they hoped to gain from an unconscious man?

All she has for him are generic comforting phrases about the terrible reality they **_all_** faced that day, as if it had as much impact for most of the others involved. It's smoothing over the issue so it feels like everyone was in it together, though she doubts if he can ever feel part of the community here again, given how they branded him a traitor.

He wrings his hands, as he hunches over the small table between them, and glances up from under his glasses to her placid face. She tries her best not to betray her own anger. What frustrates her is having politics, military and their odd hierarchy get in the way of her job – the incident covered up, glossed over in everyone's mind except her patient's. What would be straightforward is complicated, taking another route through the chaos of the whole incident. It's on days like this she wishes more people could rant at her about their love life; sometimes she genuinely misses couples therapy. It'd be a walk in the park compared to the trials and tribulations of life, and death, on Atlantis.


End file.
